Echo, echo, echo

I can speak in my own words, or close enough to them that people do not notice.
Echo, echo, echo.
Somewhere in there, there is an echo.
You can see it, if you listen.
When you ask, "Would you like some ice cream?" and I answer "ICE CREAM!" you can see it.
Even if I say "冰淇淋!" instead, it's just an echo across languages.
Echo, echo, echo.
I pull your words and make them my own.
I am the echo of your words, rearranging them to suit my needs.

You think nothing of my echo.
It's there, just not an issue, unless and until you know.
Then, and only then, does it become a symptom to eliminate,
Something that prevents the ultimate goal:
Indistinguishable From One's Peers.
Not my goal, one forced upon me.
I echo their terms in their tones, then add a "except not."
I echo their terms in their tones, then add a battle cry.
I echo their terms in their tones, and that is, in itself, a rebellion.
My echo, you see, is something they wish to squash.
It's mere use becomes a radical act.
So I echo, I echo, I echo.
In one language.
Across two languages.
Echo, echo, echo.